Equus
by TakesTwoToTango
Summary: "The years he's given me. Nobility without conceit. Friendship without envy. Beauty without vanity. A loyalty without compromise. I borrowed freedom when we rode. The history of mankind and civilization rode with us. His body took the weight of mine, and I was carried through." In the midst of humanity's fight to survive, Eren encounters the Scouts stable master.


Eren hadn't been a member of the Survey Corp for long when he first saw her. A woman, dressed in the relaxed version of a long-time Scout's uniform, in the stables. She was powerfully built, with broad shoulders and flared hips, strong arms and the thick legs that spoke of a lifetime spent on horseback. Her one distinct mark of femininity besides her robust frame was the fall of long gilded hair she wore back in a tail or in a glimmering braid. That in combination with her tough, as opposed to sleek, build said more plainly than words that she wasn't an active-duty Scout. So what, and who, was she? At the rate of the insane events that unfolded after his assignment, Eren simply didn't remember to ask.

Once he'd been released from medical leave after the incident with Annie and he returned to the main Scout base, though, one of the first people he saw was her. Her bright hair flashed in the sun like a coin as she lunged a dark gray horse in an arena near the stable, her fingers nimbly working the line as the young animal obediently trotted around her. Those accompanying Eren, Mikasa, and Armin hadn't even hailed the gate yet when her head turned towards the group, an imperceptible cue bringing the horse to a stop and in to her side.

She disappeared briefly, and Eren's arrival was inundated with the usual military rigmarole as they dismounted. But when she reappeared and started speaking in a quiet voice to Victor, the veterinary officer who had escorted him here, Eren shifted closer, folding his horse's reins in his palm as if he were simply preparing to lead his mount to the stable.

"How were they?" the woman asked Victor, her voice low, a bright timbre that she'd somehow managed to mute. Eren expected Victor to talk about the junior members' performance, although who this woman was to deserve a report about Eren, Mikasa, and Armin's behavior, he couldn't quite guess.

"Fine. Coli picked up a stone about a mile back – we didn't notice it for a while. She could have a solid bruise, but too much of a trooper to come up lame. Her mama will know best." Eren blinked. Coli was Armin's horse. She was… asking about the horses?

"Alright," she said with a nod. "I'll have a word with Private Arlert, but he's a good lad, and won't mind taking another mount until her bruise clears up. Anything else?" Victor shook his head, and, as one, the group turned to the stable, filing away under the blond woman's piercing gaze. As he passed her by, Eren noticed two things: One, her eyes were a spooky blue gray that shifted colors so smoothly that, impossibly, they seemed coloress. Two, she wasn't looking at the Scouts – her eyes moved over the horses in an assessing manner Eren recognized from field surgeons and army doctors.

As he went about the soothing process of unsaddling and rubbing down Tyno, his big bay gelding, Eren sidled closer to Armin, who was apparently on good enough terms with the woman to be referred to as a "good lad."

"Hey, Armin," he murmured as he scrubbed the spot just below Tyno's withers, reassured by his usual response – stretching his head out and down, lifting his lip and narrowing his eyes in a goofy expression of enjoyment. "Who was that woman talking to Lieutenant Victor?" Armin looked up from restocking his saddle bags – Coli had already been taken away to have her stone bruise tended to. His brow furrowed, then cleared.

"I guess you haven't had much of a chance to get to know the personnel here at the main headquarters. That was Anya Bechard – she's the stables master, and section leader of the veterinary officers. She doesn't go out into the field, although I think she used to. You can tell by the way she still wears the gear. You wear it long enough, your muscles get used to it, and you feel naked without the straps."

"So she's in charge of the horses?"

"Care, training, breeding. Everything that happens with the horses falls under Anya's jurisdiction. She's also the one who assesses assignations – who gets which horse is decided by her. If you wanted to thank someone for the best horses humanity has ever seen, thank Anya." Eren just nodded, looking back at Tyno with new eyes. It was expected for a Scout to care for his horse, to feed and clean and tend. But someone did the regular inspections, saw to their shoeing and teeth and the careful trimming of mane and tail. Eren had never really thought of who exactly that was until now.

Later, long after Tyno had been put away and Eren himself had eaten dinner, he returned to the stables. To this day, he still sometimes preferred the stables to the barracks – time had lessened the intensity of the suspicious looks he received, but there were still enough to make him uncomfortable on a fairly regular basis. Horses, however, didn't react to his altered biology. Not these horses, at least. They'd been trained since before they were yearlings not to react to a Titan's presence. An animal in the grip of fear was all but impossible to control, and that didn't just apply to horses.

Tyno was slowly munching his way through his nightly two flakes of hay – the horses largely didn't bolt their food. Eren wasn't sure why; he would have thought that it'd be more efficient to encourage quick eating, like it was with the humans. No need to waste time mashing the food more than necessary. Folding his arms on top of the stall door, Eren just watched the big horse methodically chew his hay, resting his chin on his forearms.

"How's Tyno working out for you?" Eren jerked, remembering belatedly that Anya Bechard, with her deep-throated voice and silent presence, far outranked him. Did that mean she was a captain, like Levi? His salute was rushed and a little mangled, but Anya just waved it away, crossing her arms and leaning against the neighboring stall door. The moonlight drifting in through an open window silvered her long hair and threw her face into sharp relief. But instead of aging her, it made her almost appear timeless. Lifting her brow, she silently prompted an answer to her earlier question.

"He's, uh, he's good."

"Bit bigger that Alanè," she said, referring to the mare he'd ridden to the old Headquarters back after he'd first been released to Levi's custody. Her rear left tendon had been strained out in the pasture, and it would be almost a year before she was back to riding condition. Eren had been given Tyno as his new mount, who had carried him beautifully during their first encounter with Annie in Titan form in the wilds encased by Wall Maria. They'd cut the horses' ties before rendezvousing with the rest of the regiment – the Levi Squad's horses would never see their riders again. This allowed the six horses to return with the rest of the regiment during the flight back to Wall Rose. It didn't happen often, but more horses than riders had returned from that mission.

"He's got a different stride. But yeah, he's a solid guy. Not quite as twitchy as Alanè, although his lead changes could use a little work." A slow, soft smile moved over Anya's face.

"Indeed. He lets it slide as the worst possible time, doesn't he?" Eren found himself smiling a little in return.

"Kind of lazy for a blazing fast Scout horse. He even eats slow." Anya's expression didn't change; she just shifted a little.

"They all do. They're trained to take their time eating. Back thirty years ago, Scout horses were supposed to do the same as their riders – eat fast. There's hardly any time to waste, right? Except we started losing more horses to colic than Titan attack-related injuries. It was one thing to put down an animal torn to pieces by a Titan. But when they come back alive from a mission only to die writhing and screaming from a twisted intestine? We figured out to give them time to munch, time to digest, especially if they could be called out to the field at any moment. Colic hardly happens at all anymore, now that we spread out their feedings to maintain calories without sacrificing their guts." Eren supposed that it revealed his limited horse education that he knew more about colic when it happened to human babies than in horses. After all, everything he knew about horses, what little it was, he'd learned during his time in the Scouts. But from what Anya described, colic sounded dangerously fatal, something to be avoided at all costs.

"Ever since you took charge of the stables?" Eren asked, slowly relaxing back into the stance he'd been in before he'd noticed Anya. She stepped closer, joining him as they watched Tyno, who hadn't even reacted to their presence or conversation. They both stared at the gelding's glistening rump, lightly webbed with scars, so it was out of his peripheral vision that Eren saw the shake of Anya's head.

"No – it was a connection my predecessor discovered. We used to lose nearly forty percent more horses after missions solely to stress colic. It's not normal, you know. For them to run the length of time they have to on missions – it's ungodly hard on them. Back in the early days of the Survey Corp, Scout horses didn't live past ten years old. Not just from colic, but their legs would practically fall apart from the constant running. Tendon, hoof, and bone injuries are still my biggest enemies, as you well know. The strength and endurance had to be bred into them, just like it has been into humanity. Tyno here is the culmination of a breeding program nearly a century in the making. Scout horses are as close as we can get to machines with the technology we have." She patted his rump affectionately as Eren silently digested what she'd said, her throaty voice like rain – soft and rumbling.

"But you don't treat them like machines." He didn't want to treat the horses like machines. Not the way he was sometimes treated, like a tool whose only purpose was to be used. He sensed Anya turn her head towards him, and although her odd-colored eyes unnerved him, Eren found himself meeting her gaze. It was like looking at a star – pure and eternal and burning.

"No, I don't. Because they're not. They're bizarrely strong, yes, because we made them that way. We had to. But they're soldiers, just like us. They fight and die, it's true. Any loss is a tragedy, but a good horse especially so. Because they're innocents, fighting a battle they have no inherent part in simply because we ask them to. Our horses are better soldiers than we could ever hope to be; they're loyal, and so brave, and impossibly strong. It's said that you carry the weight of humanity's hope, Eren. If you ever need a little inspiration, look to the horses. They've been doing what you have to now for a very long time." Straightening, she clapped a hand to his shoulder with enough strength to make him stagger a little before striding away into the dark. Eren watched her go, juggling the information she'd given him with clumsy hands.

* * *

><p>A month later, Eren lost Tyno. They'd attempted another run to Shiganshina with a much smaller force, hoping the lesser numbers wouldn't attract as many Titans. They'd nearly gotten halfway there before the Scouts were corralled in a small valley by a pack of Titans. They couldn't fight their way out in the nearly treeless terrain – the only choice was to run as fast as they possibly could back. There were too many for Eren to fight, and Mikasa adamantly talked him down from changing, more from her refusal to leave him than anything else.<p>

It was a hard run that made the 57th expedition's pace feel like a relaxed canter. There were no abnormals or human-driven Titans, so the horses managed to outrun them, barely. They were within sight of Karanese's gate when Tyno stumbled. He righted himself and kept going, but Eren could feel the bad hitch in his stride. The gelding didn't slow one iota, though, even with the sickening crunch he could both hear and feel with every stride. The regiment barreled through the gate, and Eren had to stand in the stirrups to pull Tyno to the stop, the horse trying his damndest to run through the bit. Even before he fully came to a halt, Eren lurched out of the saddle to crouch at his blowing horse's hooves. Even his untrained eyes knew it was very, very bad.

Levi trotted back on his pure black horse Adolph and dismounted to kneel beside Eren, his narrow eyes going to slits as he took in the damage. When he finally looked at Eren, his mouth pursed with a resigned exhale through his nose.

"Let's get him home."

It was a miserable walk.

Now that the rush of the race back to safety was over, Tyno's limp was extreme. At first, he nickered with almost every step, more of a whimper than anything else. But eventually the pain combined with his exhaustion silenced the horse, every lurching step its own immense challenge. The Scouts trickled past, each watching him and Tyno with mournful, knowing eyes. Mikasa and Armin stayed adamantly with them, walking their cooling, healthy horses at Tyno's tragically slow gait.

It seemed a century later, but eventually, they passed through Headquarters' gates. Someone must have told Anya, because they weren't even a horse-length past the entrance when she shouldered her way through the herd and ran to Eren and Tyno. Immediately, she knelt down, her experienced fingers starting at the gelding's shoulder and lightly running down. Her eyes, however, were faster than her fingers, and she saw the grapefruit-sized lump smack in the middle of Tyno's front right cannon bone before she felt it. Eren didn't need to ask – as she cupped her hands around Tyno's knee and lowered her head, he knew.

There was nothing they could do to save him.

Slowly, Anya straightened, patting Tyno's neck, still drenched with sweat from the agony of walking home on a shattered leg. She turned to Eren, and he was horrified at the feel of tears gathering in his eyes in response to the ones slowly tracking down her cheeks. Despite the show of emotion, however, her face was perfectly composed, her expression almost angelic.

"Tyno needs to come with me. Do you want to be there?" Eren mutely nodded. He could hear Mikasa begin to say his name, but he pinned her with a furious glare. This was _his_ horse, dammit. Tyno had gotten him home, safe and sound, at the sacrifice of his leg. Of his life. The least he deserved was Eren honoring him to the end.

Anya just nodded, soothingly rubbing her palm over the odd-shaped stripe on Tyno's face as Eren gathered the reins and took his place at the left side of the gelding's head. Anya stood to his right, curling her fingers around the cheek piece of his bridle as she softly cooed words to the horse that Eren could barely hear. The rest of the squads melted away, Mikasa and Armin heading towards the stables after a soft admonition from Anya.

Finally, they set out. Anya subtly directed Tyno where to go – Eren's grip of the reins was largely symbolic. He'd seen this very walk a few times before made by others with lethally injured horses, but in light of the quiet tragedy of it all, he'd never really taken in the details of it. Now, it seemed like everything was amplified – the quiet breeze, the whoosing sound of grass moving under the brush of air, the murmur of the Scouts, and the snorts of exhausted horses recovering from a brutal run. The sun, soft at best, felt mercilessly hot, his green cloak baking him worse than Titan flesh ever managed to. The smell of Tyno's sweat was overpowering, his pained grunts making Eren wince with every excruciating step he took.

Anya drew them to a stop briefly at the stables, the swish of her cape disappearing into the cool, dusty interior, shafts of light illuminating dust motes like stars. Eren didn't even have a chance to internalize his expanding grief before she was back, her hand slipping around the leather of Tyno's bridle as she began leading them again. It wasn't very far, thank God. She took them out to a secluded field, surrounded by tall trees, the grass dotted with bright flowers. It was one of the most beautiful places Eren had ever seen – it was even a nice place to die.

"Go ahead and take his saddle off," Anya quietly directed, and Eren turned to the task he was starting to know better than the fastenings of his own clothing. The girth seemed sealed with mortar, not sweat. Then again, maybe it was just the way his hands were shaking. Tyno shuddered as Eren dragged the saddle free, and his front legs started to fold, the hideous snap from his destroyed leg as he tucked it under him dragging one more tortured whinny out of the gelding. Eren went to his head instinctively, clasping his hands around Tyno's neck as he tried to drag him up. They were drilled with it in training – a downed horse was a dead horse. Don't ever let your mount go down. But Anya just laid her hand on Tyno's cheek and Eren's arm, restraining him with a petal-light touch.

"It's alright, Eren. Let him lay down." So they just followed Tyno down as he collapsed. Eren felt the ton of muscle and bone hit the ground deep in his spine, like a miniature thunder clap that made him want to wince, or scream at the ugly injustice of it. A huge sigh blew through the horse's nostrils as he thudded hard to the grass, the weight finally off his leg. It was nothing like the silly, relieved grunt when he plopped down to roll and scratch where the saddle had been – this one was so much more terribly fatal. His panicked breathing started to slow, and even his eyes drooped. After that crazed run, swimming his way through that level of pain must be impossibly exhausting. Feeling stupidly, tragically helpless, Eren knelt by Tyno's head, scratching his ears and withers just how he liked it. Tyno even tried to lift his lip, managing a twitch before fatigue rolled over him.

"I remember when Tyno was born," Anya said quietly, her low voice draping over the meadow like cool velvet. "It was eight years ago. He was born black – fuzzed out to bay like his sire by the time he hit six months old. We teach all the horses to trust humans implicitly, but Tyno was a natural. Got his hoof stuck in the fence as a yearling, and just patiently waited for us to get him out. Asked to ford a river that came up to his rider's waist, and dove in without hesitation. Such a good boy. Such a brave boy."

"It's my fault," Eren choked out as his fingertips turned black from the dust mixed with sweat in Tyno's coat. He didn't pause his loving scratches for a moment. "We were heading back with everything we had. We were almost to the gate and he… he tripped. I should have made him stop, but…"

"But he wouldn't. I know. Even once you were to safety, it took everything you had to bring Tyno back down from a dead run. Brought you home on three legs and his heart, didn't he, Eren?" He just nodded miserably at her quiet, knowing words, refusing to acknowledge the tears streaming down his face to drip onto Tyno's neck.

"Then he did his job. Did you, and me, proud. I'm the first person who ever sat on him, and I couldn't have asked for more. You were a good rider to him, Eren, and a good friend. It wasn't even slightly your fault. And I think it's time to let him go." Waiting for Eren to nod his acquiescence, she unbuckled the throat latch, slipping the leather over Tyno's black-tipped ears that liked to droop sideways when he napped in the sun with hips cocked. She handed him the bridle, and Eren took it with the reverence of a medal given for courage to a fallen comrade.

"Be at peace, my sweet friend. Your days are done, your mission over. Humanity will live on by your sacrifice, and your memory with live on in the heart of your rider. The stars will greet you as a hero. You never showed fear, you never lost your way, you never surrendered. Time will carry you on its waves, even as we weep to lose you. So rest, my strong Tyno. You have our love, and our thanks." Said with the quiet solemnity of a prayer, Anya laid her palm on the horse's temple, looking up to Eren.

"It's time." He couldn't say anything – the words were woven around his ribs, cracking them with the weight. Anya reached into her pocket, withdrawing a bundle of herbs that Eren didn't recognize, but smelled faintly sweet. Tyno obediently ate them, crunching on the greens like they were carrots – always a treat he preferred to apples. Because a part of him didn't want to watch, Eren blinked hard against the tears he still struggled to dam. But it was over almost before he knew what was happening. He opened his eyes in time to see Tyno's ribcage rise, fall, and grow still. Time dragged on, and still, there was no answering expansion. Eren looked to Tyno's face, confused to see his brown eyes still open, still glossy but empty of the warm soul that used to help Eren grow calm.

Reaching forward, Anya carefully slid Tyno's eyes closed, stroking her fingers down the white stripe on his face one last time. Settling back on her heels, she looked at Eren, her eyes impossibly blue now to reflect the disturbingly perfect sky above.

"Take your time. When you're ready, he'll get a soldier's burial. Your saddle is yours to continue to use, or to give to the stable and you'll be assigned another. Tyno's bridle will hang in the memorial hall with the others. It can be your honor, or I can do it if you'd rather not. Do you want to me take his saddle back to the stable for you?" Her soft voice made Eren ashamed of his pain, his grief. But when he forced himself to look back to her face, he could see the intense agony in her eyes, despite the careful veil of calm she drew over it.

"No. I'll… I'll carry it back. And I… I want to keep it. His saddle, I mean. As for his bridle, I…"

"You don't need to make these decisions now, Eren. So much in our lives is rushed by necessity. I told you – take your time. Say your goodbyes, make sure you can still use your saddle, really think if you're up to retiring his bridle."

"I said I'd do it!" he nearly snarled. Anya, however, didn't seem the slightest taken aback. She just nodded.

"Alright. Let me know when you're ready." Carefully, she stood. She moved with the designed caution of someone twice her age, which Eren estimated somewhere in her late twenties. He watched her walk away. It was some time after she disappeared through the trees that he began to sob.

* * *

><p>Later that night, or more like the next morning, Eren sat in his bed in the cellar, his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Despite the glasses and glasses of water he sucked down, it still felt like the ashes of Tyno's funeral pyre coated his tongue. He hadn't been there for the clean-up of Trost, but it wasn't like he'd never seen death before, right? There was something about this organized mourning, though, that left Eren aching like a torn muscle. Like he was torn straight through.<p>

He was keeping his saddle, that was for damn sure. As for Tyno's bridle… Eren had gone to the memorial hall Anya had spoken of after the fire had burned down to nothing. He'd yanked open the doors, certain he could march inside like it was just another part of HQ. There was another whole wing for the soldiers' memorial; this hall was dedicated to the horses. An entire wall was adorned with bridles, some cracked with age while others glistened, achingly new. There were paintings, bits of ribbons and blankets pinned below framed obituaries. It was a museum of the animals that carried the wings of freedoms. It was organized, beautiful, even; the faint glow from the stained glass panes above gave color to what could otherwise be a painfully stark room. And Eren couldn't set a foot inside. His eyes had welled, and he'd stumbled back, letting the door softly swing shut. Anya took care of it, no doubt. What was one more bridle to hang?

Even now, Eren swung back and forth, hurting with either decision. It was a harmless little bit of ritual. But it felt gigantic, more impossible to grapple with than the Female Titan had ever been. But why?

A soft knock at his door startled Eren, and it took a moment before he could call out "Come in." Even then, it came out a little strangled. It should have been no surprise that Mikasa and Armin stood at his door. They slipped in without any further word for him, which was just as well – his throat still felt scorched from the fire that had destroyed his horse. They joined him on the bed, silently watching him in a way that started to make his skin crawl.

"What?" he finally snapped. Armin just shrugged.

"We were wondering how you were doing."

"I'm fine," he roughly demanded. Mikasa just cocked a brow.

"I can see that." Eren tightened his lips against the sensory memory of Tyno's last, tormented whinny.

"I _am_. It's stupid. I mean, it was just a horse. Tyno just…" But his voice wheedled down to nothing in the midst of the lie. Roughly, he scrubbed his forearm against his eyes, infuriated by the trace of moisture that soaked into his shirt.

"You know, Eren," Mikasa eventually ventured quietly. "Every other time you've lost someone or witnessed death, you've gotten angry. I'm just wondering why you haven't this time." It was true, Eren realized with miserable clarity. The reason Tyno's loss felt so enormous was because there was no numbing fire of rage to help him handle it.

"I don't know," Eren furiously whispered, trying to dredge up some flicker of anger. But nothing. "The only thing I can really be angry with is me."

"It wasn't your fault, Eren," Armin was quick to interject.

"He ran himself into the ground for me, Armin. Just one more life snuffed out in the preservation of mine. I'm getting pretty damn sick of it."

"We lose horses often, Eren. It's part of being a Scout," Mikasa quietly reminded him. _Tendon, hoof, and bone injuries are still my biggest enemies, as you well know. _Eren remembered what Anya had said that night as they'd watched Tyno leisurely eat his dinner. _Our horses are better soldiers than we could ever hope to be; they're loyal, and so brave, and impossibly strong._

"I'm hanging up his bridle," Eren decided, clinging to the spurt of righteousness that moved through the blanket of grief. Armin nodded.

"I think that's a good idea. Heaven knows Anya has to do it all the time." Eren had a flash of clarity. What was it Anya had told him? _They're innocents, fighting a battle they have no inherent part in simply because we ask them to. _And how many times had she been forced to watch one of her horses die, perhaps even actively kill like she had Tyno? Horses she'd known since birth, trained into battle readiness. How many times had she murmured that prayer over a laboring animal as it slipped into death, so much more unnecessary than any lost human life? Because they weren't targets. They were collateral damage. Eren squeezed his fingers into his thighs, needing it to hurt.

Just another link in the chain that would hang the Titans, he thought viciously, clinging to the anger that always circled the topic in his brain. Because their battle against humanity had claimed enough. Good people, good horses. Enough was enough. It was another life to carry, another torch to bring with him into every battle. The loss of Tyno didn't really feed his fury, but it damn well hardened his resolve. He was hanging up his bridle, and he was going back out there. No matter what it took. This would end with him, even if it cost Eren his life.

Because Tyno should have grown old in a sunny pasture, his black muzzle going gray and his joints stiffening with age. Not scorched to clean ash, young and bright and broken.

* * *

><p>A week later, the standard mourning period a Scout observed for a lost horse, Anya assigned Eren a new mount. He wasn't sure if he was ready, but Erwin and Levi already had their heads together, and there wasn't time for Eren to fully grapple with losing Tyno. Anya, unsurprisingly, made it a relatively smooth transition. She knew his style of riding, knew what he was capable of and what he preferred. It was information she had on every Scout. One of a new Scout's first days in the Corp was spent assessing their riding skills and form. Eren, of course, hadn't followed the usual procedures because of the nature of his unique induction into the Scouts, so his formal mount assignment had taken longer, and had been done over a great distance.<p>

The horse she led him to was a six year old stallion, since Alanè was still far from being fully recovered. This one was seal brown, his body black and the edges of his frame faded to almost fawn. Only a small snip on his nose and a single sock on his back left leg broke his dark coloring. Slightly shorter than Tyno had been with a chest that could barrel through walls, he had quick eyes and almost constantly moving ears, like his brain was always on radar.

"This is Josky. He's sharp as a tack, which means you're going to have to step up your game, Eren. No babysitter, this one. He'll see things long before you, and isn't always inclined to share. But he's rock solid, and one of the fastest horses we've got. Try him out and see what you think."

As Eren was beginning to figure out was her norm, Anya was spot-on. Josky was fast, and smart, and very strong. And he was different enough from Tyno to have Eren focusing on the differences, not the pain of the similarities. Anya even mentioned off-hand that they were from completely different breeding branches. She was teaching Eren how to free-lunge, or play, as she referred to it, when he asked her the question that had been nudging at him since Tyno's death.

"Anya. Why won't you go out into the field anymore?" She hardly paused, but Josky sensed her hesitation more than Eren saw it. He slipped past her presence barrier at the minute wavering, and took off bucking down the fence line. Anya, however, didn't go after him, the way she normally would have with wolf-like grace. She just watched him go before finally turning to Eren, speaking in a resigned, controlled voice.

"It's not that I won't. I can't. I spent five years on the active-duty roster." An eternity for a Scout. "I had thirteen Titan kills, and twenty seven assists. Not a terrible resume." Not terrible? That was near the caliber of kills for a Levi Squad member.

"It was a usual mission. Aren't they all? Long story short, a Titan smacked me through a stand of those big-ass trees. Bones like an ox kept me alive, but it didn't save my back. I can't use ODM gear anymore, not if I don't want to sever my spinal cord. The doctors don't even really want me riding, but, well. The Titan might as well have eaten me if they tried to keep me from the horses. I was always better with them, anyway. Howard Rubens, the prior stables master, was killed a week after that. I was the highest ranking veterinary officer, so Erwin offered me the job as soon as I was medically cleared. I'll never fight a Titan again, but I suppose there are other ways to further humanity's cause." Her voice had been so matter-of-fact, Eren assumed it was forever ago. But when she looked over her shoulder at him, the pain in her bizarre eyes seemed fresh. A grief for a life she would never regain. Like the horses she lost all the time.

"How do you stand it?" Eren whispered. He couldn't imagine. Helpless to fight, to stop it. Helpless to do anything but aid in the grind. Training her eyes on the far horizon, she sighed.

"By believing that someday, this will end. That someday, my horses can race, or be used to work livestock, or just for entertainment. By knowing, in my gut, that the Titan onslaught can't go on forever. And that even if we lose, the horses will be free. Either way, they'll be OK in the end. Obviously, I have a vested interest in humanity's triumph, though. So I'm betting on you, Eren. It's about damn time humanity had an ace in the hole. We've certainly earned it." Before she turned to go after Josky, Anya looked at Eren one last time, her smile a little crooked, a little bitter. But then, she was a soldier at her core, no matter her semi-retired status. And all soldiers were at least a little crooked, a little bitter.

It was how they stayed alive. It allowed them to fight, over and over again. No matter how many friends, how many mounts they lost. Eren looked to Josky, who stood on the other end of the arena, his head lifted and ears swiveling to test the shifting wind. His dark, short mane moved on the breeze, and when he turned his head to look at Eren with obsidian black, intelligent eyes, he couldn't help the smile. Josky proudly tossed his head, and trumpeted to the sky with a bouncing series of small rears.

They had a long fight ahead of them, but they weren't defeated yet.

* * *

><p><em>Marathoned <em>Attack on Titan _again, and the thought of this horse master character stuck with me ever since I first saw the importance horses played in the lives of the Scouts. A fun little exercise, if you could call something this depressing fun, in between _Phoenix_ chapters. I have only watched the anime, so my representation of surrounding plot is intentionally vague. I had fun with the horse names, so there's little accuracy there. Josky is pronounced with a soft J like Jean, pretty much just because I think it sounds cool. And yes, the death of Tyno is very personal. It was a cathartic fictionalization of my first horse's death. My namesake, Tango. A loss like that stays with you forever, even once you've moved on._

_This little ficlet's title comes from the taxonomical name for horses, not the play Daniel Radcliffe was in. The quote in the summary is from the Horseware Rugs for Life commercial. Competes with the Budweiser commercials when you're talking about horsey emotional heavy hitters._

_Hope you like it!_

_Love, Tango_


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